


Mara Finds a Way

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [15]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Delvin is the ultimate wingman, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, talks of marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: Brynjolf and Fiona find themselves facing similar hesitant emotions when it comes to taking the next big step in their relationship. Mawwiage--I mean Marriage. Good thing there are people around them to help them see the light.





	Mara Finds a Way

**Author's Note:**

> for a tumblr prompt fill: " "Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move"

“Looking for our lovely Guildmaster?”

It wasn’t the first thought that crossed Brynjolf’s mind when he entered the Ragged Flaggon that afternoon. He knew Fiona had traveled to Rorikstead on some small matter, but Guild business had kept him in Riften—a few days apart didn’t concern him like it did in the early days of their relationship. While he still accompanied her on most journeys, it wasn’t unusual for him to occasionally stay behind.

His younger self might balk at how _domesticated_ he’d become with Fiona in the recent years they’d shared together, transforming the Guild and building a life together in Riften. But he was a changed man and he wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant coming back to a prosperous Guild and home to the lass.

Brynjolf joined Delvin at his usual table with a shake of his head. “I know she’s working,” he explained. “I don’t need to know where she is _all_ the time.”

“Cute,” Delvin replied, pausing to sip at his tankard of ale. “Could’ve sworn I heard word about her arriving back in the city just now.”

Brynjolf raised a brow, wondering what his friend was trying to imply. “And?”

“Right Vex? She was over at the temple of Mara?”

“The temple—” Brynjolf nearly choked on his ale.

For all the time he knew Fiona, she had never stepped foot inside the temple. She had always shown an indifference to Maramal and the priest’s sermons at the Bee and Barb, so what had changed? What in Gods name was she doing there? Perhaps it was a simple favor? It _had_ to be. His heart raced and gut clenched when he thought that it could be something _else_.

He shot a glance over to where Vex was leaning at the sound of her snickering, to which she offered a shrug. “I don’t know what to say, Bryn. Looks like the boss is looking to tie you down.”

“Don’t—” Brynjolf swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure as to why he was suddenly so anxious. He was madly in love with Fiona—had been for years, perhaps longer than he cared to admit—but _marriage_? That was terrifying. Even if he wanted to entertain the idea, the thought of asking her nearly made him faint.

Instead of laughing like Brynjolf expected, Delvin looked at him with a mix of confusion and concern. “You know, we’ve all been figuring you two would’ve gotten around to marrying by now,” he said with a smirk. “Even with you being _you_.”

Ignoring his friend’s comment, he ran a hand through his hair before pressing his palm against his forehead in thought. He _had_ brought it up to Fiona once, earlier in their relationship, but it was such an off-handed remark. Fiona had been betrothed once, when she was much younger, but had gotten out of it by simply running away. Brynjolf had asked if she would ever consider marriage again—hardly a proposal, but after her cagey reaction and flustered response, he decided not to bring it up again. Brynjolf resided to believe that their dynamic was perfect the way it was. No amulet or ring or blessing from Mara would change that—right?

“Do you _want_ to marry Fiona?” Delvin asked when Brynjolf remained silent, stuck in his own thoughts.

“It’s not that easy,” he replied.

“Bah!” Delvin replied, slapping his hand on the table. “Bryn, you two are _insufferable_. Both of you are Nords, this shit is traditional, right? Just grab one of those fancy amulets and ask her if she’s interested!”

Brynjolf looked at him flatly. _Nothing_ in his relationship with Fiona had been traditional. And while he considered himself a confident man, he was suddenly overcome with doubts he hadn’t felt since they had first become committed to one another, when he first learned she was the Dragonborn and was nearly immortal. What if he wasn’t good enough to be her husband?

As if Delvin could read his thoughts, he grinned. “Don’t doubt Fiona’s love for you. Just go see for yourself.”

* * *

Fiona made sure to change before going back to the temple, remembering how displeased Dinya had looked when seeing her Nightingale armor. It didn’t matter that Fiona was helping Maramal and the temple with a favor, or that she was the Dragonborn, she needed to show _Mara_ respect. And so, when Fiona arrived that afternoon after returning from Rorikstead, she made sure to swap her dark adventuring clothes for a more modest blue dress with a white bodice.

Dinya was sweeping near the altar, pausing when she noticed her arrival. For once the priestess offered a more generous smile, eyes glancing over Fiona’s attire as she approached.

“Were you able to reunite them?” Dinya asked.

Fiona nodded, thinking of the spirits she witnessed in the open glen. “Yes. It was a…remarkable experience.”

Before either could continue, the front doors to the temple opened. They both turned, and while Fiona expected to see Maramal, she was surprised instead to see Brynjolf. He idled in the doorway, glancing every-which way for several seconds before finally settling his gaze on her. He seemed stoic, _pensive_, and incredibly uncomfortable—clearly this was the last place he wanted to be. But then why had he come? And who had told him she was here in the first place? For once she was disappointed in the footpads’ keen observation of the city’s operations; if she had any idea it would mean they would be spying on _her_ dealings. Before she could ask him why she was there, Maramal made his appearance from a backroom.

“Ah! Visitors! And the _Dragonborn _no less,” he exclaimed. “Fiona and…” he paused, waiting for Brynjolf to reluctantly step forward to where they were grouped near the front altar. “Brynjolf. I must say that while I don’t necessarily _agree_, your organization surely has helped our city prosper.”

“Right.”

Fiona offered a supportive smile, but faltered when she noticed Brynjolf’s furrowed, anxious brow.

“My lovely Dinya tells me that you have completed an important task,” Maramal continued, fixing his attention towards Fiona instead. “Uniting loved ones and spreading Mara’s blessing across Skyrim.”

Fiona flushed as she felt Brynjolf’s eyes on her—she’d have to explain in detail _exactly_ what she did for Maramal and Dinya later, as like any priest, his dramatic flair dared to stretch the truth.

“You’ve been so kind to the people here,” Fiona explained. “It was the least I could do.”

A warmth came over her as she pulled the amulet from her pocket, revealing it to Dinya. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she saw Brynjolf’s face grow paler. She understood the implications of what carrying around an amulet of Mara could mean, _especially_ if one was a Nord—_doubly_ so if one was already in a committed relationship.

It wasn’t that marriage hadn’t crossed her mind—_Divines_, she walked past the temple everyday on her way to the Cistern! Her past wasn’t unknown to Brynjolf, but she had never seriously thought her life would end up on this sort of path. She was the Guildmaster, _Dovahkiin_, had so many responsibilities—and yet she was more afraid of asking about marriage than shouting down a dragon from the sky. She wanted to be with Brynjolf, perhaps for the rest of her life, but every once in a while a small voice of doubt questioned if he wanted the same.

“This belongs to you,” she said meekly, praying the elf would take it. Instead, the other woman placed both hands over hers, covering the amulet. A soft glow emitted from her hands and warmth ran up Fiona’s arm for a few moments.

“No,” Dinya answered, pulling her hands away. “The amulet is yours.”

Fiona was at a loss for words, knowing she had enchanted it specifically for her use. Instinctually, she looked to Brynjolf, her heart skipping a beat when she found he was already staring back, those dark green eyes of his just baring into her soul.

“We are blessed to have your protection, Dragonborn,” Maramal spoke, calling her attention back. “You once told me that you were born under the sign of the Lover, like my beloved Dinya.”

The priest eyed the two of them with a small, knowing smile. “You are a lucky man, Brynjolf, to have a woman born under the sign of the Lover. They are women of grace and passion, but not of much patience.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow, before feeling her cheeks grow hot as he glanced to the amulet then directly at Brynjolf. As embarrassed as she felt, she could only imagine how _he_ was feeling in the moment. Did everyone scrutinize them in this way? 

“Perhaps one day, you will be lucky to have her as your wife,” Dinya finished.

Fiona was about to against that _Lover_ sign and reprimand them but froze when Brynjolf’s hand reached out to wrap around her own. She stared down at their grasped hands before looking up at his expression—it was still shaky, but a little less petrified than before.

“Aye,” he answered. “Perhaps one day.”

Fiona blinked, speechless.

Outside the temple, she inspected the amulet’s aurora under the sunset’s glow.

Brynjolf squeezed her hand, stepping closer to her. “What are you going to do with it, lass?” he asked.

“Keep it somewhere safe, for now,” she explained—they both still needed time. She tightened her grip on his hand, threading their fingers together as they walked leisurely back towards the Cistern. “I might need it one day.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated


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